Long-time readers may remember the promise I made to myself this year.

After several seasons of putting the farm ahead of everything else, I was determined that this would be different. This would be the summer I finally embraced one of the biggest reasons we moved here in the first place: living in Cape May.

I imagined evenings on the beach, early morning walks looking for birds, maybe even becoming halfway decent at golf.

Well… here we are in the middle of July.

I still haven’t made it to the beach.

My golf clubs are patiently collecting dust.

I’m not making excuses, but that brutal heat wave we had in late June threw everything off. There were days when working outside wasn’t just uncomfortable—it was genuinely unsafe. While I was waiting for temperatures to become manageable again, the farm kept doing what farms do.

The weeds certainly didn’t take a break.

In fact, I think they held a convention while I wasn’t looking. They absolutely loved the heat. No rain? No problem. Triple-digit heat index? Even better. Why can’t my flowers have that kind of attitude?

By the time the weather finally cooperated, there was a backlog waiting for me. Beds to clean, rows to reclaim, plants that needed attention. It has taken me until now to finally feel caught up.

But here’s the part I’m most proud of.

I didn’t catch up by working myself into exhaustion.

I didn’t decide the answer was fourteen-hour days or skipping every opportunity to rest. Instead, I worked steadily, one job after another, at a pace I knew I could sustain.

A few years ago, I probably would have been angry with myself for not keeping my promise. I would’ve felt guilty that another summer was slipping by while I was still focused on work.

This year feels different.

Instead of criticizing myself, I’ve decided to give myself a little grace.

The truth is, there is still plenty of summer left. And around here, the best part is often what we locals call locals’ summer—those beautiful weeks after the vacation crowds disappear, when the beaches are quieter, the roads are calmer, and Cape May seems to exhale.

The beach will still be there.

My golf clubs aren’t going anywhere.

Sometimes life doesn’t unfold on the timeline we carefully planned, and that’s okay.

One thing flower farming has taught me is that every season has its own rhythm. You can’t rush a seedling because you’re impatient, and you can’t expect a field to recover instantly after a stretch of difficult weather. You simply keep tending it, day by day, trusting that the season isn’t over just because it didn’t begin the way you imagined.

Maybe we’re a little like that, too.

So instead of dwelling on the promise I haven’t fully kept, I’m focusing on the promise I still can.

There’s still time.

How about you?

When life gets in the way of the promises you’ve made to yourself, do you give yourself grace? Or do you become your own toughest critic?

I’m learning that the important thing isn’t perfection.

It’s simply not giving up.